CHAPTER VII.
BEN'S TEMPTATION.
"Jest my luck!" complained Jerry. "Why couldn't the fire have waitedtill mornin'?"
"We might have burned up," said Ben, who was considerably impressed byhis narrow escape.
"Only we didn't," said Jerry. "We'll have to try another hotel for therest of the night."
"Where shall we go?"
"We may find a hay-barge down to the pier at the foot of FranklinStreet."
"Is it far?"
"Not very."
"Let us go then."
So the boys walked along the street until they came to the pier referredto. There was a barge loaded with hay, lying alongside the wharf. Jerryspeedily provided himself with a resting-place upon it, and Ben followedhis example. It proved to be quite as comfortable, if not more so, thantheir former bed, and both boys were soon asleep. How long he slept Bendid not know, but he was roused to consciousness by a rude shake.
"Wake up there!" said a voice.
Ben opened his eyes, and saw a laboring man bending over him.
"Is it time to get up?" he inquired, hardly conscious where he was.
"I should think it was, particularly as you haven't paid for yourlodging."
"Where's Jerry?" asked Ben, missing the boot-black.
The fact was, that Jerry, whose business required him to be astir early,had been gone over an hour. He had not felt it necessary to wake up Ben,knowing that the latter had nothing in particular to call him up.
"I don't know anything about Jerry. You'd better be going home, young'un. Take my advice, and don't stay out another night."
He evidently thought that Ben was a truant from home, as his dresswould hardly class him among the homeless boys who slept out fromnecessity.
Ben scrambled upon the pier, and took a cross street up towardsBroadway. He had slept off his fatigue, and the natural appetite of ahealthy boy began to assert itself. It was rather uncomfortable toreflect that he was penniless, and had no means of buying a breakfast.He had meant to ask Jerry's advice, as to some occupation by which hecould earn a little money, and felt disappointed that his companion hadgone away before he waked up. His appetite was the greater because hehad been limited to a single apple for supper.
Where to go he did not know. One place was as good as another. It was astrange sensation to Ben to feel the cravings of appetite, with nothingto satisfy it. All his life he had been accustomed to a good home, wherehis wants were plentifully provided for. He had never had any anxietyabout the supply of his daily wants. In the city there were hundreds ofboys younger than he, who, rising in the morning, knew not where theirmeals were to come from, or whether they were to have any; but this hadnever been his case.
"I am young and strong," thought Ben. "Why can't I find something todo?"
His greatest anxiety was to work, and earn his living somehow; but howdid not seem clear. Even if he were willing to turn boot-black, he hadno box nor brush, and had some doubts whether he should at first possessthe requisite skill. Selling papers struck him more favorably; but hereagain the want of capital would be an objection.
So, in a very perplexed frame of mind, our young adventurer went on hisway, and after a while caught sight of the upper end of the City HallPark. Here he felt himself at home, and, entering, looked among thedozens of boys who were plying their work to see if he could not findhis acquaintance Jerry. But here he was unsuccessful. Jerry's businessstand was near the Cortlandt Street pier.
Hour after hour passed, and Ben became more and more hungry anddispirited. He felt thoroughly helpless. There seemed to be nothing thathe could do. He began to be faint, and his head ached. One o'clockfound him on Nassau Street, near the corner of Fulton. There was a standfor the sale of cakes and pies located here, presided over by an oldwoman, of somewhat ample dimensions. This stall had a fascination forpoor Ben. He had such a craving for food that he could not take his eyesoff the tempting pile of cakes which were heaped up before him. Itseemed to him that he should be perfectly happy if he could be permittedto eat all he wanted of them.
Ben knew that it was wrong to steal. He had never in his life taken whatdid not belong to him, which is more than many boys can say, who havebeen brought up even more comfortably than he. But the temptation nowwas very strong. He knew it was not right; but he was not withoutexcuse. Watching his opportunity, he put his hand out quickly, and,seizing a couple of pies, stowed them away hastily in his pocket, andwas about moving off to eat them in some place where he would not beobserved. But though the owner of the stolen articles had not observedthe theft, there was a boy hanging about the stall, possibly with thesame object in view, who did see it.
"He's got some of your pies, old lady," said the young detective.
The old woman looked round, and though the pies were in Ben's pocketthere was a telltale in his face which betrayed him.
"Put back them pies, you young thafe!" said the angry pie-merchant."Aint you ashamed of yerself to rob a poor widdy, that has hard work tosupport herself and her childers,--you that's dressed like a gentleman,and ought to know better?"
"Give it to him, old lady," said the hard-hearted young vagabond, whohad exposed Ben's iniquity.
As for Ben, he had not a word to say. In spite of his hunger, he wasoverwhelmed with confusion at having actually attempted to steal, andbeen caught in the act. He was by no means a model boy; but apart fromanything which he had been taught in the Sunday school, he consideredstealing mean and discreditable, and yet he had been led into it. Whatwould his friends at home think of it, if they should ever hear of it?So, as I said, he stood without a word to say in his defence,mechanically replacing the pies on the stall.
"I say, old lady, you'd orter give me a pie for tellin' you," said theinformer.
"You'd have done the same, you young imp, if you'd had the chance,"answered the pie-vender, with more truth than gratitude. "Clear out, thewhole on ye. I've had trouble enough with ye."
Ben moved off, thankful to get off so well. He had feared that he mightbe handed over to the police, and this would have been the crowningdisgrace.
But the old woman seemed satisfied with the restoration of her property,and the expression of her indignation. The attempt upon her stock sheregarded with very little surprise, having suffered more than oncebefore in a similar way.
But there was another spectator of the scene, whose attention had beendrawn to the neat attire and respectable appearance of Ben. He saw thathe differed considerably from the ordinary run of street boys. Henoticed also the flush on the boy's cheek when he was detected, andjudged that this was his first offence. Something out of the common waymust have driven him to the act. He felt impelled to follow Ben, andlearn what that something was. I may as well state here that he was ayoung man of twenty-five or thereabouts, a reporter on one or more ofthe great morning papers. He, like Ben, had come to the city in searchof employment, and before he secured it had suffered more hardships andprivations than he liked to remember. He was now earning a modestincome, sufficient to provide for his wants, and leave a surplus over.He had seen much of suffering and much of crime in his daily walks aboutthe city, but his heart had not become hardened, nor his sympathiesblunted. He gave more in proportion to his means than many rich men whohave a reputation for benevolence.
Ben had walked but a few steps, when he felt a hand upon his shoulder.
Looking round hastily, he met the gaze of the young man. He had thoughtat first it might be a policeman, and he felt relieved when he saw hismistake.
"You are the boy who just now took a couple of pies from a stall?" saidthe reporter.
"Yes," said Ben, hesitatingly, his face crimsoning as he spoke.
"Do you mind telling me why you did so?"
There was something in his tone which reassured Ben, and he determinedto tell the truth frankly.
"I have eaten nothing to-day," he said.
"You never took anything before?"
"No," said Ben, quickly.
"
I suppose you had no money to buy with?"
"No, I had not."
"How does it happen that a boy as well dressed as you are, are in such aposition?"
"I would rather not tell," said Ben.
"Have you run away from home?"
"Yes; I had a good reason," he added, quickly.
"What do you propose to do? You must earn your living in some way, orstarve."
"I thought I might get a place in a store; but I have tried half adozen, and they won't take me."
"No, your chance will be small, unless you can bring good references.But you must be hungry."
"I am," Ben admitted.
"That can be remedied, at all events. I am just going to get somedinner; will you go with me?"
"I have no money."
"I have, and that will answer the purpose for this time. We will go backto Fulton Street."
Ben turned back thankfully, and with his companion entered the veryrestaurant in which he had dined the day before.
"If you are faint, soup will be the best thing for you to begin on,"said the young man; and he gave an order to the waiter.
Nothing had ever seemed more delicious to Ben than that soup. When hehad done justice to it, a plate of beefsteak awaited him, which alsoreceived his attention. Then he was asked to select some dessert.
"I am afraid you are spending too much for me," he said.
"Don't be afraid of that; I am glad that you have a good appetite."
At length the dinner was over. Ben felt decidedly better. Hisdespondency had vanished, and the world again seemed bright to him. Itis hard to be cheerful, or take bright views of life on an emptystomach, as many have learned beside our young adventurer.
"Now," said his new-found friend, "I have a few minutes to spare.Suppose we talk over your plans and prospects, and see if we can findanything for you to do."
"Thank you," said Ben; "I wish you would give me your advice."
"My advice is that you return to your home, if you have one," said thereporter.
Ben shook his head.
"I don't want to do that," he answered.
"I don't, of course, know what is your objection to this, which seems tome the best course. Putting it aside, however, we will consider what youcan do here to earn your living."
"That is what I want to do."
"How would you like selling papers?"
"I think I should like it," said Ben; "but I have no money to buy any."
"It doesn't require a very large capital. I will lend you, or give you,the small amount which will be necessary. However, you mustn't expectto make a very large income."
"If I can make enough to live on, I won't care," said Ben.
He had at first aimed higher; but his short residence in the city taughthim that he would be fortunate to meet his expenses. There are a goodmany besides Ben who have found their early expectations of successconsiderably modified by experience.
"Let me see. It is half-past one o'clock," said the reporter, drawingout his watch. "You had better lay in a supply of 'Expresses' and'Evening Posts,' and take a good stand somewhere, and do your best withthem. As you are inexperienced in the business it will be well to take asmall supply at first, or you might get 'stuck.'"
"That's so."
"You must not lay in more than you can sell."
"Where can I get the papers?"
"I will go with you to the newspaper offices, and buy you half a dozenof each. If you succeed in selling them, you can buy more. To-morrow youcan lay in some of the morning papers, the 'Herald,' 'World,''Tribune,' or 'Times.' It will be well also to have a few 'Suns' forthose who do not care to pay for the higher-priced papers."
"Thank you," said Ben, who was eager to begin his business career.
They rose from the table, and set out for the offices of the two eveningpapers whose names have been mentioned.
Ben, the Luggage Boy; Or, Among the Wharves Page 7
